I looked at Victoria.
“Anything else?”
My attorney hesitated.
“Lark forwarded portions to an outside investment fund.”
“Which fund?”
“North Coast Partners.”
I knew that name too.
A competitor.
One that had tried to buy Bellamy from me two years earlier.
Richard saw my face.
I told him.
His expression collapsed.
Victoria looked confused.
“Adrian said sharing data was normal.”
I stared at her.
“You gave him access?”
“Then how did he get it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“I introduced him to people.”
“Who?”
She looked toward Martin.
My eyes followed.
I walked toward him.
“Did you give Lark system credentials?”
“Did anyone at this store?”
“One analyst visited.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Ethan Marsh.”
Richard stiffened.
Victoria noticed.
He whispered, “Ethan works for Whitmore Capital.”
“Currently?”
Now it was his company too.
His employee.
His fired former strategist.
His daughter.
My stolen data.
Richard pulled out his phone.
“I’m calling security.”
I stopped him.
“Not yet.”
“Because if someone inside your company helped steal information, I want to know how far it goes before they realize we know.”
Victoria looked suddenly afraid.
Not arrogant.
Afraid.
Richard turned.
She swallowed.
“Ethan wasn’t just helping Adrian.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
Then at her father.
“I introduced them.”
Richard’s face hardened.
“Four months ago.”
Victoria’s voice dropped.
“Because Adrian told me you were planning to cut me out of the family company.”
Richard froze.
She blinked.
“I never planned that.”
“He showed me documents.”
“What documents?”
She reached for her handbag.
Then stopped.
Her face went white.
“It’s gone.”
“My tablet.”
The emerald confidence vanished completely.
“My tablet was in my bag.”
She looked around the boutique.
“It has every message Adrian sent me.”
Richard’s expression changed from anger to alarm.
“Where did you last see it?”
Victoria whispered:
“In the private fitting room.”
We all turned toward the corridor.
The door at the end was slowly swinging shut.
Someone had just left.
Chapter 3
I ran before anybody else moved.
The fitting corridor curved behind the main salon and led toward a staff stairwell.
By the time I reached it, the door was open.
Footsteps hammered downward.
“Security!”
One of the guards rushed past me.
I followed.
Richard shouted my name from behind.
I ignored him.
I wasn’t chasing a tablet.
I was chasing evidence.
The stairwell emptied onto a service hallway behind the building.
When I pushed through the final door, cold air hit my face.
A man in a dark coat was already halfway toward the loading area.
“Stop!”
He looked back.
Young.
Thirty, maybe.
Then he ran faster.
The security guard chased him around a delivery truck.
Not to call police.
To photograph him.
Three shots.
One caught his face.
He disappeared toward the avenue.
The guard returned a minute later, breathing hard.
“Lost him.”
I showed him the picture.
“Do you know him?”
He looked carefully.
Then nodded.
“I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
“Inside the store.”
“Last week.”
“Employee?”
He frowned.
“He was with Mr. Marsh.”
Ethan.
Whitmore’s employee.
Good.
We had a connection.
Bad.
The connection was getting stronger.
Back upstairs, Victoria looked shaken.
Richard looked furious.
Martin looked ready to disappear.
I held up the photo.
Victoria’s face changed immediately.
“Caleb.”
“Who is Caleb?”
“Adrian’s assistant.”
Richard swore.
I sent the photograph to my attorney.